Ripley for six years, and it had been a mixed blessing. The hours were horrific and the stress was enormous, but David, determined to hang in there for the partnership, had stayed and had done a brilliant job. Now the day was finally at hand.
When David and Sandra left the real estate agent, they went shopping. They bought a bassinet, high chair, stroller, playpen and clothes for the baby, whom they were already thinking of as Jeffrey.
“Let’s get him some toys,” David said.
“There’s plenty of time for that.” Sandra laughed.
After shopping, they wandered around the city, walking along the waterfront at Ghirardelli Square, past the Cannery to Fisherman’s Wharf. They had lunch at the American Bistro.
It was Saturday, a perfect San Francisco day for monogrammed leather briefcases and power ties, dark suits and discreetly monogrammed shirts, a day for power lunches and penthouses. A lawyer’s day.
David and Sandra had met three years earlier at a small dinner party. David had gone to the party with the daughter of a client of the firm. Sandra was a paralegal, working for a rival firm. At dinner, Sandra and David had gotten into an argument about a decision that had been rendered in a political case in Washington. As the others at the dinner table watched, the argument between the two of them had become more and more heated. And in the middle of it, David and Sandra realized that neither of them cared about the court’s decision. They were showing off for each other, engaged in a verbal mating dance.
David telephoned Sandra the next day. “I’d like to finish discussing that decision,” David said. “I think it’s important.”
“So do I,” Sandra agreed.
“Could we talk about it at dinner tonight?”
Sandra hesitated. She had already made a dinner date for that evening. “Yes,” she said. “Tonight will be fine.”
They were together from that night on. One year from the day they met, they were married.
Joseph Kincaid, the firm’s senior partner, had given David the weekend off.
David’s salary at Kincaid, Turner, Rose & Ripley was $45,000 a year. Sandra kept her job as a paralegal. But now, with the baby coming, their expenses were about to go up.
“I’ll have to give up my job in a few months,” Sandra said. “I don’t want a nanny bringing up our baby, darling. I want to be here for him.” The sonogram had shown that the baby was a boy.
“We’ll be able to handle it,” David assured her. The partnership was going to transform their lives.
David had begun to put in even longer hours. He wanted to make sure that he was not overlooked on partnership day.
Thursday morning, as David got dressed, he was watching the news on television.
An anchorman was saying breathlessly, “We have a breaking story… Ashley Patterson, the daughter of the prominent San Francisco doctor Steven Patterson, has been arrested as the suspected serial killer the police and the FBI have been searching for…”
David stood in front of the television set, frozen.
“…last night Santa Clara County Sheriff Matt Dowling announced Ashley Patterson’s arrest for a series of murders that included bloody castrations. Sheriff Dowling told reporters, ’There’s no doubt that we have the right person. The evidence is conclusive.’”
Dr. Steven Patterson. David’s mind went back, remembering the past…
He was twenty-one years old and just starting law school. He came home from class one day to find his mother on the bedroom floor, unconscious. He called 911, and an ambulance tookhis mother to San Francisco Memorial Hospital. David waited outside the emergency room until a doctor came to talk to him.
“Is she—Is she going to be all right?”
The doctor hesitated. “We had one of our cardiologists examine her. She has a ruptured cord in her mitral valve.”
“What does that mean?” David demanded.
“I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do for her. She’s too weak to have a transplant, and
When David and Sandra left the real estate agent, they went shopping. They bought a bassinet, high chair, stroller, playpen and clothes for the baby, whom they were already thinking of as Jeffrey.
“Let’s get him some toys,” David said.
“There’s plenty of time for that.” Sandra laughed.
After shopping, they wandered around the city, walking along the waterfront at Ghirardelli Square, past the Cannery to Fisherman’s Wharf. They had lunch at the American Bistro.
It was Saturday, a perfect San Francisco day for monogrammed leather briefcases and power ties, dark suits and discreetly monogrammed shirts, a day for power lunches and penthouses. A lawyer’s day.
David and Sandra had met three years earlier at a small dinner party. David had gone to the party with the daughter of a client of the firm. Sandra was a paralegal, working for a rival firm. At dinner, Sandra and David had gotten into an argument about a decision that had been rendered in a political case in Washington. As the others at the dinner table watched, the argument between the two of them had become more and more heated. And in the middle of it, David and Sandra realized that neither of them cared about the court’s decision. They were showing off for each other, engaged in a verbal mating dance.
David telephoned Sandra the next day. “I’d like to finish discussing that decision,” David said. “I think it’s important.”
“So do I,” Sandra agreed.
“Could we talk about it at dinner tonight?”
Sandra hesitated. She had already made a dinner date for that evening. “Yes,” she said. “Tonight will be fine.”
They were together from that night on. One year from the day they met, they were married.
Joseph Kincaid, the firm’s senior partner, had given David the weekend off.
David’s salary at Kincaid, Turner, Rose & Ripley was $45,000 a year. Sandra kept her job as a paralegal. But now, with the baby coming, their expenses were about to go up.
“I’ll have to give up my job in a few months,” Sandra said. “I don’t want a nanny bringing up our baby, darling. I want to be here for him.” The sonogram had shown that the baby was a boy.
“We’ll be able to handle it,” David assured her. The partnership was going to transform their lives.
David had begun to put in even longer hours. He wanted to make sure that he was not overlooked on partnership day.
Thursday morning, as David got dressed, he was watching the news on television.
An anchorman was saying breathlessly, “We have a breaking story… Ashley Patterson, the daughter of the prominent San Francisco doctor Steven Patterson, has been arrested as the suspected serial killer the police and the FBI have been searching for…”
David stood in front of the television set, frozen.
“…last night Santa Clara County Sheriff Matt Dowling announced Ashley Patterson’s arrest for a series of murders that included bloody castrations. Sheriff Dowling told reporters, ’There’s no doubt that we have the right person. The evidence is conclusive.’”
Dr. Steven Patterson. David’s mind went back, remembering the past…
He was twenty-one years old and just starting law school. He came home from class one day to find his mother on the bedroom floor, unconscious. He called 911, and an ambulance tookhis mother to San Francisco Memorial Hospital. David waited outside the emergency room until a doctor came to talk to him.
“Is she—Is she going to be all right?”
The doctor hesitated. “We had one of our cardiologists examine her. She has a ruptured cord in her mitral valve.”
“What does that mean?” David demanded.
“I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do for her. She’s too weak to have a transplant, and
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